“Did Mary Monson ever speak to you?”
“She never did, to my knowledge.”
“What, then, do you mean by ‘grand language?’”
“Why, when she spoke to aunt Dorothy, she didn’t speak as I was used to hear folks speak.”
“In what respect was the difference?”
“She was grander in her speech, and more pretending like.”
“Do you mean louder?”
“No—perhaps she wasn’t as loud as common—but ’twas more like a book, and uncommon.”
Dunscomb understood all this perfectly, as well as the feeling which lay at its bottom, but he saw that the jury did not; and he was forced to abandon the inquiry, as often happens on such occasions, on account of the ignorance of those to whom the testimony was addressed. He soon after abandoned the cross-examination of the sister of Burton; when his wife was brought upon the stand by the prosecution.
This woman, coming from a different stock, had none of the family characteristics of the sisters. As they were garrulous, forward, and willing enough to testify, she was silent, reserved in manner, thoughtful, and seemingly so diffident that she trembled all over, as she laid her hand on the sacred volume. Mrs. Burton passed for a very good woman among all who dwelt in or near Biberry; and there was much more confidence felt in her revelations than in those of her sisters-in-law. Great modesty, not to say timidity of manner, an air of singular candour, a low, gentle voice, and an anxious expression of countenance, as if she weighed the import of every syllable she uttered, soon won for this witness the sympathy of all present, as well as perfect credence. Every word she uttered had a direct influence on the case; and this so much the more since she testified reluctantly, and would gladly have been permitted to say nothing.